“Oh?” Ash joined them, handing a champagne flute to Violet. Zahir declined. “How is it that you know our food? I thought you had not been to Kalasi?”
“I haven’t,” she agreed. “But my grandmother Sophie always felt guilty, I suspect, at having been the reason Efani quit his homeland. She learned to cook Kalasi by way of a compromise. My mother learned from her. I grew up in London but my palette is more at home here.”
“Your grandmother did not like Kalastan?” Ash prompted.
“She did,” Violet was diplomatic. “But the climate was hard for her.”
“As it will be for you,” Zahir pointed out, earning a sharp look of reproach from Syed.
Violet tilted her head to one side, her clear eyes looking past him, into him, through him. “Perhaps.” She shrugged after a moment, as though it was of little matter, and sipped her champagne. It was delicious, cool and refreshing with a tartness to her that perfectly suited the edge to her nerves.
“You were saying earlier that you are not a normal librarian,” Ash reminded her. “Does this mean you are somehow a superhero book organiser, or something?”
She let out a small laugh. “Not exactly.” Syed and Zahir listened intently. “What I do is not dealing with fiction books, nor readers. I work in the history archives of the Ancient Britain Guild. We manage all sorts of documents, some dating back to Roman Britain. The original tablets continue to be stored in museums but we have the images of them.”
“To what end?” To her surprise, it was Zahir who asked the question.
A little line formed between her brows. “Meaning why keep them?”
“Why keep duplicates?”
“Ours is the biggest single collection of some of the most mundane pieces of correspondence. We have everything at our fingertips. Government records for trade, taxes paid, edicts issued, fines to citizens, announcements regarding royal births and deaths. And then, we have the trivial, banal letters between friends and family discussing their lives. These letters take place against the background of every major event in British history. How did Britain’s people feel when Elizabeth died childless? How did the uncertainty of Mary Queen of Scotts’ reign affect people living in small towns?”
Her audience was captive and it was one of her favourite subjects. “History is very black and white,” unconsciously she looked down at the enormous ring she wore, “without these accounts to flesh it out. Since the late eighties we have been computerising the records and meticulously adding keywords to each, so that an historian researching any subject matter, no matter how obscure, could find some content. For example, we have more than two thousand letters to do with the invention of flushable toilets.”
Syed laughed – a sound like his brother’s – at least, she thought as much. She couldn’t recall having heard Zahir laugh before and yet instinctively she knew these two men shared a great many mannerisms. “A matter of great public interest.”
She smiled back easily, none of the emotional heaviness she felt with Zahir in evidence. “Absolutely.”
“You are an historian rather than a librarian?” Zahir commented.
“Well, technically I’m a specialist librarian. But I did my PhD in Historical Research Techniques.”
“Fascinating,” Syed murmured. “Have you been to the old city?”
“We only arrived overnight,” Zahir pointed out, something dark in his tone.
Syed ignored it. “Some of the buildings date back to the turn of the millennium. If you ask me, it is every bit as beautiful as Rome, but without the swarms of tourists.”
Anticipation spread through her. “I’d love to see it,” she remarked with true enthusiasm.
“I thought you might show her the sights,” Zahir said, though he sounded bored, or angry. Something Violet didn’t understand.
“Any time,” Syed agreed. “My house is in the northern most quadrant. On a quiet night, you can hear the desert wolves howling.”
A shiver ran down Violet’s spine. “Desert wolves?”
“That is enough induction for now, hmm?” Zahir drawled, reaching out and relieving Violet of her champagne flute. “We should get these photos over and done with.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Her cheeks ached and her feet were slowly morphing into tiny pain sensors, capable only of twinging with every step she took.
The photographer stared at his screen as though they didn’t exist, and Zahir and Violet were silent. The backdrop of the grand ballroom was daunting enough, but standing beside a husband who obviously didn’t want her was making her nerves stretch awkwardly.
The thrones had been the proverbial straw that had broken the camel’s back. They were exquisite. Matching gold with jewels set into the top and plush white velvet fabric. And one was now hers. At least, temporarily; just until they divorced.
She sat in it, her back rigid, her face focussed ahead, her feet crossed at the ankles, and she waited. Waited for the photographs to be taken; for this day to end.
“And now, majesties, we shall move to the garden.”
Her feet groaned. The shoes, so beautiful at first, were pinching inwards. Or was it the heat of the day making her feet swell?
“No.” Zahir stood, his dark eyes flecked with determination. “That shall suffice. We require only a single photo to announce our marriage. You must have that by now.”
The photographer showed surprise for a brief moment and then nodded, bowing obsequiously. “Of course, sir. I shall liaise with your press office.”
“No. Send the photographs to me once you have assessed the best.”
“Certainly.”
He began packing away his equipment and Zahir turned to Violet. His eyes met hers silently but she didn’t look away. Curiously, she waited. What would he suggest? What would he say? They had, after all, just married.
“You look tired.”
Great. Not what she’d hoped, that’s for sure.
“I am,” she said simply, covering her embarrassment with the truth.
“Come. I will walk you back to your room.”
Cold formality. The worst.
She nodded. “Thank you.”
They moved across the ballroom slowly, as though he understood the pain of her feet. “Your sister didn’t want to join us?”
Violet’s smile was distracted. Lilly was a handful, but she was her handful. “She was too tired,” she fibbed. “You know teenagers. They need a lot of sleep.”
He nodded. “Have you realised that you were younger than your sister when I married Anna?”
Violet’s footing stuttered slightly and he put a hand in the small of her back. “I can’t see why that’s relevant,” she said with a shake of her head.
“Can’t you?”
“I wasn’t going to marry you at fifteen,” Violet said coldly. “Nor at eighteen.”
“Eighteen was the age my father had suggested.”
“And Efani had responded with twenty one.”
“Still too young.”
“I’m twenty three now.”
A muscle flexed in his cheek. “I am well aware of that.”
“This is a real problem for you, isn’t it?”
He stopped walking. They were in a corridor that was lined with tapestries and, every so often, a servant.
Expelling a breath, he took her by the arm and led her off to the side, into an alcove much like the one she’d been in earlier that day. This one showed yet another view of the city, with a building shaped almost like a ship’s sale the most prominent in her line of sight. “Not as you are now.” His eyes bore down into hers; he was searching for something.
“What do you mean?” They were close again. She could feel his chest moving up and down with each breath he took.
“When you arrived today,” he paused, and his face was set in a hard line of concentration. “You were stunning.”
“Thank you,” she murmured. “It’s just make up and hair and this dress.”
“Is it?”
He shook his head. “Or is it really you?”
“Well, I’m in there too,” she quipped.
“I looked at you yesterday in London and saw the teenager I’d run a mile from. The child-bride I had never wanted to be shackled with. Now I have a wife who is a woman. A beautiful woman.”
Her heart turned over in her chest. Kiss me, she was screaming inwardly, desperately.
“You are all grown up.”
“That tends to happen over time.”
He lifted a hand and cupped her cheek. She tilted her head into it, wanting more contact. More of everything. “Why do I feel like one kiss will break you?”
She drew in a breath and shook her head slightly within his palm.
“How do I know that I would not be able to stop with a kiss?” He dropped his head, his lips just a husk from hers.
“Why would you need to stop with a kiss?” She whispered, her eyes seeking his.
Surprise flashed across his face, and something else. Possessive desire. It flicked through both of them like a flame, hungry to consume. With a groan he brought his mouth crushing down. His lips covered hers and his tongue invaded her.
Stars swam in her eyes.
His body pressed forward, pushing her back against the wall. Every single cell in her body was on fire now, leaping joyously, screaming loudly. Her hands reached up and wrapped behind his head, her fingers curling in his dark hair.
She arched her back and he groaned deep into her mouth. She was limp. A rag doll, held in place by his mouth and the pressure of his body on hers.
“This is madness.” He broke the kiss but didn’t remove his body. “You are …”
“Your wife,” she said softly.
“But not really,” he muttered. “I have no right to want you like this.”
She swallowed, the bitter truth of his statement hurting. “I chose to marry you this time,” she reminded him. “I could have said no.”
“You were raised to be my wife.” He turned away from her and drew a hand through his thick hair. “What choice did you really have?”
“I want to be your wife.” She moved so that she was standing in front of him, forcing him to meet her eyes. She recognised the war being waged in them. “I want to make love to you.”
He drew in a harsh breath and straightened, his angular face held tight. “That was not our agreement.”
“So? Am I imagining this?” She lifted up on her toes and brushed her lips to his. “Am I?”
He shook his head, his expression grim. He reached down and scooped her up, cradling her against his broadly muscled chest.
“What are you doing?” She asked, her voice high.
“Something I shouldn’t.” His stride was long as he moved through the palace.
“People are going to see this,” she implored, a hand on his chest.
He didn’t respond, only quickened his pace until finally he stopped. The doors were wide and golden. “My wing.”
“You get a wing and I only get a suite?” She said huskily, teasing him to defuse some of the tension that was making breathing difficult.
“Technically, my wing is now yours too.”
“It is?”
He shouldered the door open then kicked it shut. He stepped out of his shoes without putting her down, then walked through the elaborate living space, through a hallway that was wrapped in gold and turquoise wallpaper, into a room that was as beautiful as it was old-fashioned. The bed was enormous and carved intricately on each of its four posts. Heat and spices filled the air; it was as intoxicating a mix as the need that was gushing through her limbs.
Another time, she would like to study the carvings of the bed, but they were the last thing from her mind as he placed her carefully into the middle of the mattress. He stood over her, his breath forced, his eyes fixed on hers. “You really want this?”
“Do you?” She challenged, pushing up onto her elbows.
He swore in Kalasi – one of the words her grandfather had forbidden her from using. “More than I have ever wanted anything or anyone.”
Her heart soared. She felt like she was power personified; like she could do anything. That he wanted her was a gift she needed. “I’m going to need help to get out of this gown.”
He nodded. “Allow me.” He crouched at the edge of the bed and gently, so gently, relieved her feet of the stunning shoes-come-torture devices. She wiggled her toes gratefully and his strong fingers moved to the balls of her feet. He dug his tips into the flesh, moving in circles, relieving pain and simultaneously sending a tsunami of desire literally from the tips of her toes to the core of her being. She let out a soft moan as pleasure soaked her.
“Those beautiful shoes should be locked up for display,” she tried to joke, as his hands crept higher, to her ankles, and then higher still to her slim calves. When they reached her thighs, Violet could hardly breathe. But she wasn’t scared. She was not any emotion she could describe in words. She was just a ball of feeling.
Gently, his fingers wrapped around the flimsy silk of her underwear and lowered it, so slowly that she was impatient to reach down and help. But the torturous contact was so pleasure-laden that she didn’t dare do anything to interrupt. What if he changed his mind? She didn’t think she could bear the disappointment, having felt the promise of what was to come, course through her blood.
“Come to me,” he murmured, his eyes heavy on her face. She wriggled wordlessly off the bed, conscious that her feminine core was exposed beyond the fullness of her skirt.
She stood and rested his hands on her shoulders, then glided them down the fabric of her arms. “Turn around.”
She did so, slowly, and his hands turned with her, until they’d reached the buttons at the back of the gown. One by one he undid them, also slowly, and as soon as enough had been parted to reveal her skin, he lowered his mouth and kissed her. Lightly, gently, sending goosebumps all over her body. She shivered as his hands worked until the last button was separated and he could push the beautiful dress down her shoulders to her waist.
Standing behind her, he reached around and cupped her breasts, feeling for her pert nipples. When he touched them, she gasped, and then he began to circle them with his thumb and forefinger, sending sharp arrows of desire through her whole body. He brought his mouth to her shoulder, teasing her with his tongue, tasting her, wanting her.
She groaned, pushing back into him until proof of his arousal nestled against her. Slowly, he spun her, and then he brought his mouth to one of her breasts. If she had thought his fingers could wreak havoc on her central nervous system then she’d never anticipated the pleasure his mouth was capable of offering.
Shards of desire were stabbing at her as his mouth clamped around a nipple and his tongue rolled it and tasted it. Her skin flushed pink all the way to her face; breath burned in her lungs.
He crouched down then, and the absence of his mouth was a torture she hadn’t been prepared for. She hadn’t realised she’d said as much though until he laughed softly against her abdomen. “You will feel it again.”
Mortified, she tried to take a deep breath and calm herself down, but pleasure was stoking fires that she could not extinguish. His hands curled around the dress, dragging it lower, until she stood naked except for ankles that were swallowed by fabric.
He stood slowly, his eyes on her body, and stepped back. He stared at her, from the crown on the top of her head, to her pert breasts, her neat stomach and short yet slender legs. His eyes lingered on the apex of blonde curls at the entrance of her womanhood until she thought she might spontaneously combust. Finally, he dragged his gaze back to her face.
“Your turn,” he murmured, his eyes holding a challenge she didn’t understand. Until he lifted his arms wide and signalled his clothing.
“Oh!” She nodded, her throat parched. “Of course.”
Nerves made her fingers unsteady. She took a step towards him. A halting step, then forced an uneven smile to her lips. “I just didn’t expect
we’d be doing this,” she said honestly, her cheeks pink. “Where do I…?”
His eyes were shining with emotion. “Here.” He pointed to a ribbon that was concealed around his waist. When she pulled it, the robe separated, revealing his nakedness beneath save for a pair of black underpants.
“Well,” she murmured, her throat parched. She didn’t dare look at his chest. “That’s handy to know about.”
He grinned. “In case you get a sudden urge to see me naked?”
She nodded with mock seriousness. “Absolutely. One never knows when the urge might arise.”
He nodded, but his expression had sobered. “You are not yet finished.”
“Right.” She bit down on her lip and put a hand on the fabric. It was warmed from his skin. Slowly, as he had done with her dress, she guided it down his strong arm, allowing her fingers to graze his flesh as she went. Then, emboldened, she placed a kiss against his shoulder blade before running ten more across to his other, dragging the robe with her until he was freed of it. She dropped it to the floor.
He was almost naked. Just a pair of underpants.
Nothing dramatic about that right?
With shaking fingers she captured the elastic waist, her eyes meeting his. Nerves were making her vision blurry. She pushed the fabric lower but his arousal made it difficult. She had to concentrate to succeed, and concentrating meant looking, so she saw the moment he was exposed to her.
And made a sound of anticipation. He was enormous, and so erect. Curious, she didn’t restrain herself from indulging her natural curiosity. Her fingertips glided over his tip, driven by an ancient feminine instinct she didn’t want to question. She felt him shudder at the contact and a thrill of power assailed her.
“Nothing on earth can stop me from possessing you,” he said huskily, as she knelt before him and glided his underwear to his ankles. He stepped out of them but didn’t move backwards, so that her face was at eye-level with his arousal.
“Stand up,” he commanded.
But Violet was curious. How powerful was she? How much could she get away with? “What if I want to kiss you first?” She asked softly, her huge eyes staring up at him.
The Sheikh's Contract Bride: Theirs was an ancient debt, and the time had come to settle it... (The Sheikhs' Brides Book 1) Page 7
